Privately printed, Boston, Press of
Robinson Printing Company, 1894. Of 500 printed,
three copies
are known to exist, one in the Massachusetts
State Archives, Boston. It, and the copy
owned by Victor Slocum, contain later minor pencilled
emendations by the author, not given here.

Voyage of the Destroyer

from

New York to Brazil

(1894)

INTRODUCTION

FROM the quiet cabin of my home on the
Spray, the reminiscence of a war.

Frankly it was with a thrill of delight that I
joined the service of Brazil to lend a hand to the
legal government of a people in whose country I
had spent happy days; and where moreover I found
lasting friends who will join me now in a grin
over peacock sailors playing man-o-war.

Brazil has indeed sailors of her own, but to
find them one must go down to the
barcassa and the jangada where
the born son of Neptune lives. In his unassuming
and lowly condition, a true child of the sea.

To these friends let me tell now, who have come
from the war, the story of the voyage of the
famous Destroyer: the first ship of
the strong right arm of future Brazil.

VOYAGE OF THE "DESTROYER"

TO sail the Destroyer from New
York to Brazil in the northern winter months was
not promising of great ease or comfort--but what
of that! I, for one, undertook the contract of
the novel adventure myself, with its boding
hardships and risks which soon were met face to
face. Twelve brave fellows--better sailors I
shall never see--casting their lot with me in the
voyage were willing also to accept whatever fate
might have in store for them, hoping,--always, for
the best. Curiously enough the fatalistic number
of the crew (thirteen) was not thought of before
sailing. Every one was looking for good omen.
Some of the older sailors made a search for rats,
but not even the sign of a mouse could be found.
Still no one backed out--times were hard ashore!

A young man to fight the ship, in case of being
"attacked by pirates" on the coast of
Brazil, came from a recent class of Naval Cadets
of Annapolis. With sufficient confidence in his
theory, this young man came early, bringing plans
of the fight along with him, if there should be
any, for he was bound to begin right.

Also a nobleman, who came principally as Count,
engaged himself to be with us. The position of
"specialist" was spoken of as his, but
that was by the way. The Count was a good judge
of an hotel.

There came, too, I should not forget it, a
young officer of the British Royal Marine
Artillery, who became in time a feature of the
crew. This young man had accumulated handsome
gold bands for his caps, which he frequently lost
in the sea, upon the voyage,--caps and all. The
sword, which by merit he had won, was of enormous
size. This sword and a heavy Colt's revolver,
which he wore night and day, gave my young
officer, I must say--for a little man--a
formidable appearance. The prodigious sword, I
recall, "won by valor at the Soudan,"
and "presented by Her Gracious Majesty, the
Queen," had the American eagle stamped upon
its blade. This was the famous sword, which
buckled on over a dashing red coat, secured for
him the position of third gunner's mate to the
Count, Mr. W----, a gentleman of influence
procuring him the place upon first sight of this
rig and the cut of his sails, for it must be borne
in mind that we are to make a strong warlike
appearance when we come to Brazil, if not before.

Of all these awe inspiring weapons, my old
sailors made due note. Well, this young man came
also, but taking passage along with the fighting
Captain and the Count on the steamer that towed us
he was always three hundred fathoms ahead, except
in the ports we touched on the voyage, and again
came together to recount deeds of valor and
trophies won; my sailors always standing in awe of
sword or gun; being, too, always touched at the
sight of the unmistakable bird spreading its wings
over the Queen's gift.

My own position on the ship: of "navigator
in command," was hardly less important than
those above mentioned. Being a man of a peaceful
turn of mind, however, no fighting was expected of
me, except in the battle with the elements, which
should begin at Sandy Hook. So on the 7th of
December, 1893, after devious adventures in the
getting ready, we sailed for Brazil, in tow of the
Santuit, of Boston, and began our
fight early in the voyage.

The most noteworthy of the adventures spoken of
in "the getting ready" was the
destruction of a stout projecting pier, which
apparently stood in the Destroyer's
way, on leaving the Erie basin. It was plain to
be seen then that she could do the work well for
which she was designed and named: A destroyer not
of piers however. But, shades of Ericsson,--ship
or pier! She could evidently knock them all down!

I was not in command at the time:
better than that, the fighting captain
was--But didn't the splinters fly! I thought of
the poor "pirates" on the coast of
Brazil and pitied them if, by their misguiding
star, they should fall athwart the
Destroyer, in her fighting mood.

It was six in the morning when we tripped
anchor from Robins' reef, stowed all and proceeded
down the bay.

The clear breath of heaven came free to every
sailor on board and a voice that I knew hailed:
"The ship is all your own." We were free
unshackled from the land.

The Destroyer towed smoothly and
steadily enough; and gliding along by the channel
buoys she marked a fair rate of speed.

Off Sandy Hook, and clear of the shoals, the
tow was stopped, that we might readjust the
thimble in the towline, a sharp point having
pressed against the rope threatened to cut it off.
This thing, though small in itself, was the
beginning of a series of mishaps that came soon
enough. My sailors on the beak of the bow with
tackle, crowbar and sledge-hammer fixed up the
defective thimble, as far as a job of the kind
could be remedied. The sailors wondering what
longshoremen would do, if they hadn't old tars to
finish their work at sea! I mention these things
now for the guidance of sailors hereafter.t

The propellor at this point was disconnected,
it having been decided to use steam only for the
pumps and the whistle. A code of signals was
arranged between the two vessels: Rockets and
lights for the night: the Universal Code of Flags
for the day, and the steam whistle for day or
night, making a complete arrangement in all.
Nothing was left undone by the agents in New York,
looking to the safety of the ship and the
completion of the voyage. Having been many years
out of commission she got a great overhauling--on
paper.

Her lockers bespoke in that department, the
highest class of a seaworthy condition.

Long after when we were all under water and
could get no fire to burn, one of the stokers,
cloyed of good things, damned his fate that he
should ever have to breakfast on cold roast turkey
and cold chicken. I shall come upon this low
wretch again on the voyage.

The crazy thimble being repaired, all seemed
well and the Destroyer was again
headed on her course.

The wind was from West to Nor'west, blowing a
moderate breeze. The sea was smooth. The ship
making good headway, skirted the coast with the
land close aboard as far South as Winter Quarter
Shoal; whence taking her departure she headed
boldly away for the Gulf Stream.

At 6 A.M., Dec. 8th, the light on the shoal
was visible a-beam. The latitude at noon was 37
degrees 03' N. Longitude at noon was 75 degrees
05' W.

Distance run in 28 hours 220 miles.

The wind has veered to the N.N.E. The sea is
not so smooth as it was. The ship behaves well,
however, all things considered, though
occasionally now she rolls down low in the water
and takes short cuts clean through the waves.
Steam is up, it has been kept up since we left New
York.

The steam pumps are at work--the vessel is
making water. A calamity has overtaken us. The
ship's top seams are opening and one of the new
sponsons, the starboard one, is already
waterlogged.

All hands are pumping and bailing to keep the
ship afloat, but the water gains steadily, and by
midnight, it is washing the fires and putting them
out. Steam must be kept up, else we go
down.

The sea is rough! What can we do?

Rounds of fat pork are heaped upon the
struggling fires. Hard bread smeared with fish
oil is hurled into the furnace by the barrel, and
all available light stuff, as well, that will burn
on the top of dead coals, such as tables and
chairs, is thrown on the fire. There is no longer
any draft, the rising water has cut the draft off.
But the pork, and the bread and oil, and our
furniture after a while--a long while it
seems--makes a joyful fire that sends steam flying
into the tubes and pipes to lend us its giant
strength. Danger signals of rockets and
blue-lights have been shown through the night.

The Santuit responded promptly to
all of our signals, and handled the
Destroyer with great care, on her
part, in the rough sea. The storm continued
through the 9th. But with energy taxed to the
utmost, we gain mastery over the sea, and the
water in the hold is so reduced by daylight, that
coals may burn again on the grates. A number of
holes and leaks have been found through which the
water has been streaming all night. We caulk some
of them with cotton waste, and plug others with
pine wood.

We signal the tug boat to go ahead, that we are
"all right." We are out of the first
danger!

A stout canvas bag is made now, one that will
hold a barrel of water. A derrick at the hatch is
also rigged for a hoisting purchase. Hardly is
this done, when sorely needed. All night long,
(Saturday), this bag is hoisted and emptied by
eight pairs of strong arms. The rest of the
people on board are driving the steam pumps, and
repairing defective valves and making new ones,
all as fast as they can. The cook, throughout the
storm, prepares warm coffee for all hands. There
are no idlers around these days of storm and toil.
The steam pumps after a while are working again
all right; then a long pull and a strong pull at
the big canvas bucket along with the pump for a
matter of four hours more, without a rest, and the
ship has free bilges once more.

December 10th, 11th, 12th and 13th are days
like those just gone, and ones to come of
incessant care, anxiety and toil. The sea runs
more regularly, though, as we proceed southward,
nearing the regions of the trade winds, which is
at least some respite. And although destined to
disappointment when we shall actually meet them,
the all expected fine weather of the
"trades" stands before all on board as a
beacon of hope. No energy is spared to
"reach the trades."

The water in the hold is kept down from one to
three feet. Occasionally a rolling suck is
gained, which in our joy of it, we call free
bilge. Great quantities of water goes over the
ship. She washes heavily, still, going often
under the seas, like a great duck, fond of diving.
Everything is wet. There is not a dry place in
the entire ship! We are most literally sailing
under the sea.

The Destroyer comes out of the
storm today (13th), decked from the top of
smokestack to bottom of the lifelines in Saragossa
weeds or flowers. All along the man-ropes fore
and aft, are hanging in clusters, these flowers of
the sea: a rare and beautiful sight!

The good Swede, Ericsson, whom we all know,
conceived the Destroyer, a ship to
turn navies topsy turvy. This, the first one of
the kind, was intended for harbor defense and to
remain on the coast at home. It was a Yankee, so
I believe, who guessed that she could be taken to
another hemisphere: and here we are well on the
way with her, already "across the Gulf,"
the great bugbear of the voyage. All of her
seagoing qualities are tested, we know what they
are. The Destroyer laughs at the
storm, hut her sailors cry "shame,
shame" on some folk now snug ashore. The
solvent sea leaves nothing undone in its work, and
Neptune abhors a skim. Putty and paint put in the
seams I don't know when, or by whom, washes out
like clay, and poor clay at that.

December 13th comes in with storm and cross
sea.

We suffer!

The fires are threatened by water again up to
the bars. Pumping and bailing goes on together
again all night. The tug upon our signal slows
down and heads to the sea, that we may again free
the ship of water and plug up more leaks, which we
search for now as keenly as one would look for
precious gems.

Later in the day, the sea goes down somewhat.
The tropical storm was short. Coal and water,
under great difficulties, were procured from the
Santuit to-day. Also some carbolic
acid is procured, with which to wash a dangerous
wound. Assistant Engineer Hamilton, an oldish
man, becoming exhausted in the storm last night,
fell backwards down the engine room hatch,
receiving a fearful gash clean across his bald
pate which had to be herring-boned together. The
wound was dressed, and Hamilton, made easy, was
stowed away till further comforts could be given.

One Thomas Brennan, the stoker, who complained
of roast turkey in the storm, mentioned before,
showing frequent signs of mutiny, refused to mind
the fires, as directed by Hamilton, his watch
officer, before the accident. Brennan kicked
Hamilton, when no one was by to interfere, then
jumping upon the old man, bit him on the face like
a wild beast. My sailors are exceptionally good
seamen; up to the standard of manliness in many
ways. If the sea could be rid of all such brutes
as this Brennan, good sailors would be happy. His
case will be attended to later on.

December 14th, the ship is heading for Mona
Passage, no great distance away.

The trade winds are very strong and a heavy
cross sea is encountered as we near the Windward
Capes of Tahita. Twenty miles N.W. of Mona
Passage, the rudder is disabled. We can put it
but two spokes to port, and but half of its proper
angle to starboard. With this much, however, she
is kept fairly in the wake of the tow-boat; both
ships steering excellently well.

December 15th, early in the forenoon, the
Destroyer has entered and is passing
through Mona Passage. In the afternoon, she
hauled to under the lee of the S.W. point of Porto
Rico, to receive more coal and water from our
supply ship, the Santuit. Thence
proceeding instantly to sea, she headed direct for
Martinique. Now, if the trade winds were strong
outside, they are fierce in the Caribbean Sea.
The waves are sharp and fierce in here, where
times out of mind, we have all seen it so smooth.

Wet to the bone before, our hope is
dampened now! body and soul is soaked in the sea!
But there's no help for it, we all know--for
nearly all on board are sailors--and if the
Destroyer won't go over the seas, go
under them she may. All hands will pump her out
and hold on, for go to Brazil she shall; nearly
all have decided on that, so far as human skill
can decide. To encourage this sentiment, and see
that the tow-line is always well fast and secure
is largely the duty of the "navigating
officer" of the good ship
Destroyer.

A pump brake more often than the sextant is in
his hand, and instead of taking lunar and stellar
observations in the higher art of nautical
astronomy, he has to acknowledge that the more
important part in this case, is of searching out
leaks and repairing the defects. To work a
lunar distance is one thing, but to free a leaky
ship and keep her so in a gale of wind, is quite
another thing--it is well at times to have a
knowledge of all these fine sciences and arts.

This night, the sea is rough and dangerous.
The storm is wild and bad. The port sponson, as
well as the starboard one is now waterlogged. He
was a clever man who designed those sponsons and
saw them constructed in such a manner that both of
them didn't fill up together.

The crew have all they can do to keep the ship
afloat to-night. The water puts our fires out.
All we can do, we can't keep the water down; all
hands bailing for life.

The main hull of the Destroyer is
already a foot under water, and going on down.
The crew have not seen the thing as I have looked
upon it to-night, all they have seen is hard work
and salt water. Not like driven cattle, do they
work either, but as stout, loyal men. The owner
of the Destroyer, seeing that she
would not insure, will reward these men handsomely
(?) for their excessive exertions in keeping her
afloat at all. She could not be insured for the
voyage; nor would any company insure a life on
board.

Well, I left her going down, a foot under
water. Believe me, the Destroyer,
to-night, was just about ready to make her last
dive under the sea, to go down deeper than ever
before. The tank that we lived in on deck, was
all that buoyed her up; the base of this, too, was
well submerged when "Big Alec" of Salem
said, "Captain, steam in the man is going
down, too; we can't keep up much longer." But
the storm was breaking away, and the first streaks
of dawn appeared to cheer every soul aboard. With
a wild yell the men flew to their work, with
redoubled energy and wrought like demons.

This saved the Destroyer, and
probably our own lives, too, for it is doubtful if
a small boat could have lived in the storm, for it
was still raging high.

The Santuit has seen our signals
of distress, and is standing by as near as it is
prudent to come in the gale. Twice in the night,
I was washed from the wheel, and I usually hold a
pretty good grip. Dizziness, from a constant
pelting sea made me reel sometimes for a moment.
To clear my senses and make sure that the voyage
was a fact, and that the iron tank on which we
were driving through the waves had in reality a
bottom to it somewhere under the sea, was all that
I could do and reason out.

The storm goes down by daylight, as suddenly as
it came up in the night. And we get in under the
lee of a small island for shelter and rest--Ye
Gods--a rest!

It was the Island of Caja de Muerties, adjacent
to Puerto Rico, which gave us this comfort. Here
we cast anchor at 9 A.M. and lay till 8 P.M. of the
same day, (December 16th,) when propitious
appearances in the heavens, we sailed again on
the, now, somewhat irksome voyage. But "the
Windward Islands will soon be gained," we all
said, and "to the south of them, the trades
we know, will be fine." And so the
expedition went on, heading now for Martinique.

At Caja de Muerties, the Santuit's
crew lent a liberal hand to straighten things up
on board after the hard pumping and bailing.
Colonel Burt, himself, on the
Santuit, in command of the expedition
gave ample signs of his appreciation of the merits
of a good crew. The ship had free bilges before
she cast anchor at the island.

There is but little to say of the rest of the
voyage through the Caribbean Sea. The ship is
taking a circuitous route, the sooner to gain the
lee of the islands. Proceeding under low speed,
and changing her course from time to time, to
accommodate the ship to the run of the sea, she
goes hopefully on.

December 18th, the best steam pump is broken
beyond the possibility of repair on board.
Nothing, except new, will take the place of the
broken parts. But happily enough, the sea has
gone down and we suffer but little now from
leakage. The kind influence of the islands is
with us this time in our need, and we'll soon be
in smoother water still. So the ship goes now
full speed ahead, with no rough sea to hinder.

December 19th, at daylight in the morning, the
islands of Guadaloupe Maria Galante--(God
preserve the name), and Dominique, are all in
sight. The sea is smooth and the trades regular.
The Destroyer is heading direct for
Martinique, she raises the island soon, and at 4
P.M. of this day, came to anchor at port St.
Pierre--in a leaky condition!

Here at St. Pierre, we met the
America, as was anticipated. The
stoker, Brennan, the kicker and biter, was
transferred to that ship, where his mutinous
conduct could be conveniently restrained in a
"brig," which she rated. I own, here,
that I was ugly enough to ask it as a favor: that
instead of roast turkey and chicken, he should
have bread and water, for a day or two, with not
too much bread in it.

Poor old Hamilton was still in a very sore
condition. He, too, was transferred to the
America, where there was a good hospital in which
to lay up and a very excellent doctor to mend his
broken head.

One of the America's engineers took Hamilton's
place on the Destroyer. And Sir
Charles, the hero of the Soudan, coming from the
Santuit, before we leave Martinique,
makes our number again thirteen.

Why is Sturgis towing always the ship of the
thirteen crew? We have no use now for number
thirteen, the ship's work being better than it was
and why did he cast anchor first at the Island of
Caja de Muerties? A cold thrill runs through me
now, as I ask the question concerning that king of
two-boat men and his compact engineer, Mr. Brown,
whom we all thought would be hard to kill, even in
war. "Yellow Jack," alas! will answer
my question in Rio.

I glance at the page of my manuscript just
filled with the thoughts as they came without
other shape, and I see that it bears the number
thirteen, which was written there before I had
thought at all of what I would say.

A small matter, sometimes, sets the greatest of
you all to thinking; this "thirteen"
comes back to me now, like an echo from over the
sea. But it's all right! I suppose I am
entranced with emotion. I must put up my nervous
pen, else I'll be sentimental here in the small,
still hours on the Spray.

At daylight this morning, to resume my small
task and finish the story, or the "yarn"
you may call it, I open a book for the word
Noronha. Staring me in the face, is a letter to
"Capt. Sturges, S.S. Santuit," which I
wrote and did not send, here among the pages
concerning Fernando de Noronha.

The atmosphere of the whole voyage is around me
still. So I turn the matter away for the day to
resume other work on my sloop, the Spray--some
sailorizing on my light and airy craft--I may
finish the voyage to-night.

Evening on the Spray, brings me back to the
days on the Destroyer: The old year
was escorted out and the new year ushered in at
Fort de France Bay, by my sailors in a
glorification ashore becoming the importance of
the timely occasion. William, one of the smartest
of the crew, came aboard from the hospital, some
days later, minus a piece of his liver, which
quiet John, the fireman, snipped off with a
jack-knife in an argument over a bottle.

Now, John, you wouldn't think to see him, the
drudge at work, would say bali to a goose. But on
a New Year it was different. There was no arrest
made.

A policeman brought aboard a sheath-knife that
was found at the scene of the fray, merely with
the request that "when the crew went ashore
again they would leave their knives behind."
This reasonable suggestion was strictly respected.

All of our stores were resorted at the Island,
dried and repacked.

Moving to Fort de France Bay, December 21st,
repairs were made there till January 5th, 1894, on
which date the Destroyer again
sailed, at early daylight.

Our condition at sea we find is better than it
was. The Destroyer goes with some
degree of safety now, benefited, to be sure, by
her late repairs. The trade winds are still
blowing very strong, and although towing in the
teeth of the wind, the ship is kept free and
handled in all respects without the wear and tear
on a man's soul that was suffered in the early
part of the voyage. But that, now, is neither
here nor there. The procession has passed!

Mr. Mondonca, minister from Brazil, assured us
sailors before leaving New York that all the sea
south of the "Gulf" would be "like
a lake"--We found it so! But what lake, I'll
never tell!

Our company of thirteen, I have said, was made
good at Martinique. One of the number now is Sir
Charles, the "hero of Soudan." Sir
Charles is not only in the expedition, but is one
of us on the Destroyer, to pass the
Rubicon in her, now that she has crossed the Gulf.
Previous to this his sailing had always been in
large ships, therefore he could not, for a long
time, be reconcile' to the poetical motion of the
Destroyer of lesser dimensions.

Sir Charles was, however, a stern
disciplinarian.

Numberless were the duels he would have fought
on the Santuit. But for the want of
gentlemanly principles, no one accepted his
challenges--not even the nigger cook, to whom he
gave choice of weapons. This sanguinary spirit
spurting from the third gunner's mate on the
voyage, what will be the state of the
Destroyer's decks? I ask myself,
when the gunner himself appears and the fighting
captain takes charge.

But the cook, seizing the frying-pan in his
black fist, against all the rules of dueling,
don't cher know, chased Sir Charles around the
deck. That wasn't all; the nigger having gained
on Sir Charles sufficiently to reach him, he
thought, let fly the blooming pan, but hit
something hard. Instead of Sir Charles's head,
the steam winch caught the blow, and of course the
pan broke into a thousand pieces. It was a bad
blow for Sir Charles all the same. Capt. Sturges
hearing of the mishap--he was bound to hear of
it--it was the Santuit's slapjack pan
that was broken, and hearing of Sir Charles's
thirst for blood, called him to the bridge for an
interview, which could be heard all over the
harbor, to the effect that "any more such
work on the Santuit, sir, and I'll
make shark bait of your d----d carcass, d'ye hear?
Now, go forward."

Sir Charles h'went!

Colonel B----, with a twinkle of humor,
transferred Sir Charles then to the
Destroyer--"to stand by the
captain."

Now the crew of the Destroyer
having had, I may say, a pretty salt time of it,
were ready and willing for anything fresh. The
hero of "many bases" dropped into the
vacancy like one born for the place.

But what a fighter he was, to be sure! A duel
on the Destroyer bless you, came to a
focus in no time. No one up to the present had
thought of personal combat--hadn't found time to
even think of a quarrel. But now ten paces were
marked off on the Destroyer's deck,
and had not Sir Charles's friend and countryman,
Wildgoose, the engineer, extracted all the bullets
from the revolvers, some one on board might have
been hurt! I know it is a sin for me to grin over
the reminiscence of an enthusiast heading for war;
but one may be chief mourner at a funeral itself
and be obliged to laugh.

The chap was a good rifle shot, there was no
doubt about that. He was known to have emptied a
magazine of bullets into the body of a dead shark
one day at the anchorage. It was a very large
monster, but Mr. Brown, the
Santuit's engineer, had already shot
the brute through the head, killing him instantly.
Nevertheless, our third gunner's mate blazed away,
putting every shot that he fired near one centre
close abaft the fin by a method of quick action
with the trigger and lever which he called
"pumping." "If this shark were only
Mello!" I thought. This feat led, naturally,
to a rehearsal of exploits at the Soudan, which we
had not heard of before. Oh, no; It was the
"Bedouin scouts that came for us one morning,
swinging in on their tall war camels, and I just
took aim with my rapid firing gun and pumped the
riders out of their saddles, one, two, three, just
like that, Sir." This, in fact, was told
confidentially to me with a coolness to indicate
that it was nothing to "pump" a man.

For the admonition of sailors and sea bathers,
generally, I say, put no faith in the yarn about
harmless sharks. They are always liable to be
about coral reefs and around ships--and they are
always hungry.

The shark about which I was telling; one of the
largest that I ever saw, in the place, too, where
even some natives declared there were none, came
near making a dinner off one of our crew. Mr.
Kuhn, one of the engineers, was in bathing. I had
just advised him to come aboard: that if
"John Shark" should chance to sample him
sticking plaster would never make him whole again.
But, "Oh, there is no sharks," he said,
and the American Consul, who was aboard, said
there were none in the bay. When up comes this
monster, with a bound through the water, right
before us; as much as to say, "What do you
think of me then, if there are no sharks?"
and he struck a bee line for Mr. Kuhn, who,
fortunately, was near the ship. It was going to
be a close shave, however. The shark, as he
darted forward for his would-be victim, lashed the
sea with his tail like a pleased tiger.

Then Mr. Brown, the cool engineer of the
Santuit, snatching his rifle with
haste, took aim, holding the range till the
monster, rising to make a grand lunge and clean
sweep, fired. The ball passing through the
shark's head, decided the moment. The brute shot
past his mark, with closed jaws and lay lifeless
on the water, a target, as I said, for the
gunner's mate, who "pumped" the carcass
so full of lead that it sank before it could be
secured--any way it went down.

Mr. Kuhn proved himself to be a pretty fast
swimmer, when he finally concluded to take my
advice and come aboard, and being reminded of it
by a twenty foot shark close upon his heels.
Being an athletic young man, it didn't take him
long to get in over the side, without the aid even
of a step-ladder.

Mr. Kuhn, I may say in a word, landed on deck
like a flying-fish in a gale of wind, and not a
moment too soon. It was a day for sharks. Three
more of the same species as the one just slain,
not less, I should say, than 18 feet long each,
now appeared not far from the vessel. They were
apparently fighting over a greasy board some ten
inches broad by four or five feet long, which had
been thrown over from the galley. Pretty soon the
board disappeared and didn't show up again. A
butter firkin was then thrown over. It drifted
about 100 yards away, when it was seized in the
huge open jaws of a hungry white shark and went
the way of the board. Never a splinter of either
came again to the surface of the water.

Whether the board was swallowed whole, or first
sawed or ground into smaller lumber, nobody knows.
It is only fair to state, however, that it was a
soft pine board. The firkin is no matter. The
likes of that, or a deck-bucket or two, it is well
known, is mere dessert to a shark, if he is a big
one.

There was no need of further cautioning the
crew to keep out of the water. After the above
occurrence one could hardly persuade the
cook, otherwise a brave man, to draw a
bucket of it over the side; and some of the older
hands, never yet daunted by even sea-serpent or
whale, abstained from water now more than ever
before. The monsters, I confess, gave us all a
turn.

Jan. 18th the Destroyer arrived
at Fernando de Noronha where all hands were
busied, for the day, taking in coals and water
again from the Santuit. A very heavy
surf on prevented all communication with the shore
except by signals and afterwards by dispatches
that were brought to us out through the breakers
by convicts of the place, in one-man canoes which
they skillfully managed. The occupants having no
wish, apparently, to end the term of their
conviction, which they told us ranged yet ten
years ahead of them. Ten years of their lives had
already been put in on the windward side of the
island. They rejoiced now on the lee side where
for the first half of their penal term they might
not come, so I was told.

I observed a multitude of people, convicts and
guards, on the shore, making efforts to launch a
great raft (the governor's "barge" I
suppose) which they did not entirely succeed in
floating. The heavy breakers on the shore defied
all their strength and skill, tossing the
cumbersome raft back to land as often as it dipped
in the sea. But the nimble canoes--mere cockle
shells--came out and went in all right.

Fifty convicts had landed on the island the day
before our arrival (President Peixoto's political
prisoners) . There were, I dare say, senators
and congressmen in the busy crowd of workers
to-day trying to launch the raft which, like their
own thwarted schemes, poor fellows, they could not
float. For sinning politicians, even, life on the
island met the ends of justice, considering ten
years of it on the rugged side, under the constant
roar of breakers.

It was about 8 A.M., when the
Destroyer arrived at Fernando de
Noronha. At 7 P.M. of the same day, she sailed
with orders for Pernambuco, where she arrived
without further incident of note, Jan. 20th 9
A.M. Later in the morning, a pilot with harbor tug
brought her into the inner harbor, where she was
moored to the Receife, which finishes the worst
part of the hardest voyage that I ever made,
without any exception at all.

My voyage home from Brazil in the canoe
Liberdade, with my family for crew
and companions, some years ago, although a much
longer voyage was not of the same irksome nature.

Let no one run down the Liberdade
of sailing fame. Her voyage, to me, was poetry,
herself a poem. Such however was not expected of
the terrifying Destroyer even from
the beginning, and no one was disappointed but all
were delighted to find her at last in port.

At Pernambuco, we fell in with the loyal fleet
of the Brazilian Navy. Passing under the lee of
the Nictheroy, the crew of that noble
ship gave the Destroyer three rousing
cheers. My old friend, Captain Baker, was on
deck, as usual. The America and
several other small ships were in the inner
harbor. And what? my old friend, the
Falcon, one of New Bedford's most
worthy whaleships, which I last saw dismantled and
aground at Fairhaven, and out of service: As like
as two serving mallets, it is the old
Falcon or Noah's Ark. Again, how
mistaken: It is Admiral Goncalves' flagship, the
Paranahyba, sure! I see cannon
bristling from her sides, and gold-braided
officers all about. Yes, it is the Admiral's
ship.

My nautical skill is again brought into service
at Pernambuco. What a thing it is to be
"Navigating Officer in command."
Together with the engineers, I am again mending
and repairing, for which purpose the ship is
grounded on the bank near the Arsenal. A few
rivets about the bows having been sheared,
consequent upon towing in the heavy seaway, was
this time the cause of the leak. One tide
sufficed for all the time necessary to repair
below the waterline. When about to haul her off
the following tide, a boat came from the Arsenal
with orders to remain a day longer on the bank,
that the work might be regularly inspected. It
being a day of festa, the ship, even in
war time, had to wait over.

On the following day duly appointed officers
came, and the work that the engineers and I did in
about an hour's time, was in the course of two
days "regularly inspected," then, of
course, it kept the water out.

I should explain that Sunday is not so much
thought of by our Brazilian friends, but all of
the fast days are religiously kept, and every
thing they can lay their hands upon as well, over
there.

The next thing in order was to fire the
submarine gun.

A thousand pities it was that the gun itself
was not in order. The Count and
"specialist" wrote, from his hotel, a
polite note to Admiral Duarte, begging the Admiral
to witness the coming exploit with the cannon.
There were several other Admirals about, but for
special reasons Duarte had the Count's sympathy,
so he invited him to come to the show. The note
was written in the politest of French, but the
Admiral didn't come--and tell it not to the
Marines--the gun didn't go off! Worse than that,
the Destroyer that was by this time
tight and comfortable, had now to be put on the
bank again, in order to unload the projectile from
the cannon, since it wouldn't discharge by fire.
This so strained the ship--a swell setting in that
rolled her heavily against the bank, that she
became leaky again. Though not a severe leak it
was still discouraging. The only trouble about
the whole affair with the gun was that the powder
got wet.

But it was now hurrah for the war, boys, get a
cargo of powder in and be off, ship and cargo was
supposed to go against the arch rebel, Mello, who
would have been "Liberator" of Brazil,
but for the other man. Peixoto was bound to be
"Liberator" himself. There was no time
now to be lost! But wait! I'll tell all about
that, too, pretty soon.

The Destroyer is carrying powder
now for the whole fleet, which burnt all they had
saluting the admiral on the way to Bahia in his
old ark.

These ships preceded us by a few days;
ostensibly, in haste, for Rio, but Mello not being
ready to leave just then, the "attack"
was postponed. It being untimely, however, to
come back for more powder, it was shipped along to
them on the Destroyer. The dear old
craft had in already gun-cotton and dynamite
enough to make a noise, but Goncalves wanted more
thunder of his own old-fashioned sort, so we
filled her chock-a-block with the stuff to make
it. The submarine cannon was all stowed over with
barrels of powder and was not get-atable at all
the rest of the voyage to Bahia. In fact powder
was all about. Three barrels of it found stowage
in the Captain's room. The fourth one we couldn't
get in. It was stowed back of the galley. That
it didn't all blow up is how I am here
to-day--thinking of my sins.

Well, in due course the stuff was all delivered
in good order to the various ships in Bahia, for
which the Destroyer was heartily
maligned by all the Naval Officers, except the
Minister of Marine, whom I judged to be with the
legal government. Goncalves, the Admiral, was
himself so enraged that he "romped" my
"trata" at once. It was a portion of
this same cargo of powder, which, forwarded on to
Rio soon afterwards, was laid in the mine to blow
up the Aquideban--and was fired after
the great battleship got by and comfortably out of
the way of it.

When I began the "voyage," I had no
thought of writing a history of the whole war.
Unconsciously I am drawn a distance beyond my
first intent by the facts afloat of great
achievements.

Horrors of war! how, when a lad, I shuddered
at your name. I was in my ninth year, hired out
on a farm when the thrilling news came to our
township of a probable religious war. The four
little churches bounding our small world, had
always been in a light warfare, but now
the Catholics were coming.

My employer, the good farmer, I shall never
forget, armed his farm hands and his family with
pitchforks, scythes, reaping hooks and the
like--to do or die! There was great excitement.
My own weapon was a hatchet, but that is no
matter. The enemy came upon us, as it were,
before we got our courage "screwed up to the
sticking point." The rumpus began in the hen
house, adjoining the kitchen: a heavy roost fell,
and the de-il was to pay among the chickens.
"The enemy! the enemy!! was the cry; the
Pope's men have come sure enough!!! Where upon my
employer, with laudable discretion, flinging open
his doors, made haste to welcome the invaders.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "come in, I
have always been of opinion with you. Come in,
gentlemen, and make yourselves at home in my
house." When lo! it appeared there wasn't a
man of any kind to come in. An old warrior cock,
with bedraggled feathers, strutted in, however,
and said "tooka-rio-rooa," or something
to that effect, and the dear little chickens were
all put back to roost--all except a few which next
day went into the soup, and the war was finished.

But that, so far as I know, had nothing to do
with this cruel war in Brazil. Nor can I say that
history, in this case, repeats itself. The
association is with me in the chain of my own
thoughts and feelings. In those days, when I
followed the peaceful pursuit of the plough, or
rather a harrow it was, which towed by the old
gray mare, that I navigated over the fields,
already ploughed, and followed at three dollars a
month. I say I shuddered then at the thoughts of
war. But now I find myself deliberately putting
my hand to documents which in those days nothing
could have induced me to sign. At this time of
life, after being towed under amid over a large
portion of two oceans, I sign articles of war!
And notwithstanding my well-known peaceful
disposition, I am expected to fight--in gold
braid--to say nothing of the halibut-knife as long
as my arm to dangle about the heels of my number
elevens.

I observed on board of the Admiral's ship
several young officers towing their swords well
behind on the deck, thus obviating the danger, to
the wearer, of being tripped up by the wicked
blade. In the face of all the well known dangers
I join the navy. Confidentially: I was burning to
get a rake at Mello and his
Aquideban. He it was, who in that
ship expelled my bark, the Aquidneck,
from lIha Grand some years ago, under the cowardly
pretext that we might have sickness on board.
But that story has been told. I was burning to
let him know and palpably feel that this time I
had in dynamite instead of hay. It would have
been, maybe, too great a joke.

The motives of war: two men strive to be
"liberators" of Brazil, another is
ambitious to give her "a new
republic"--charging brokerage for the
same--others again are ready to fight for mere
lucre. My own frailty I have already confessed.

I had by me still the very best of the good
crew, which had followed the fortunes of the
Destroyer all the way from New York.
The Yarrow torpedo boat Moxoto,
perfect in her construction and in perfect order,
was added to our expedition. We were ready now to
sail against anything afloat; but had yet to meet
and pass, if we might, the fleet of the black bean
eaters under Goncalves; not open foes, but
lukewarm friends of greater danger, which, as I
have said, preceded us to Bahia, burning their
powder on the way, saluting the Admiral.

February 9th, 1894, the Destroyer
sailed for Bahia, accompanied by the
Moxoto, the handy torpedo boat.

On the 13th she arrived at the destination,
Everything was funeral quietness at Bahia. The
doughty Goncalves I saw often, passing to and fro,
always to the music of a band. A captain of my
grade, and foreigner at that, don't get any music
in Brazil. All else was quiet and serene. The
occasional pop of a champagne cork, at the
"Paris" on the hill, might have been
heard, but that was all, except again the sunset
gun. The rising sun had to take care of itself.
The average Brazilian Naval man is an amphibious
being, spending his time about equally between
hotel and harbor, and is never dangerous.

I was astonished at the quietness of Bahia,
there was not even target practice. Indeed the
further we got away from stirring New York, the
less it looked like war in Brazil. There was to
be torpedo practice one day. A Howell torpedo was
launched, but boomerang like it returned hitting
the ship from which it was hurled. The only thing
lacking to have made it a howling success was the
dynamite, which these remarkable warriors forgot
to put in. On the following day Goncalves, being
in a bad humor, seized our ships and then under
the pretext of making ready to move the world,
nullified the great Ericsson cannon, which alone
would have settled the business of the revolt. He
rendered it as useless as the "busted"
gun at Bunker Hill. Appearances were, now, that
Goncalves would do himself all that should be
done. And that, to be sure, is not saying
much--to which he made a fair beginning.

Goncalves and his officers, I grieve to say,
reviled the Destroyer, not only, I
was told, for bringing the powder so quickly upon
their heels, cutting thus into their quiet in port
and hastening them on to the front, but for still
greater reasons as well. As it proved, however,
there was no danger in meeting the enemy, nor any
cause of alarm. Goncalves, it is well known, was
fitted out with peaceful, harmless people in his
ships; Meilo's outfit was the same. Both sides as
harmless as jay birds! Why should they kill each
other? That the Destroyer, then,
most formidable ship of all, must in some way be
disposed of, went without saying. When first she
came to Bahia though, and it was reported that
this was the long hoped "money ship" to
follow the fleet--and pay the bills--the large
iron "tank" in which the crew lived
fitting in size their expectations of the chest
out of which they would all get rich. Many
visitors came to see her and called her a very
handsome ship, saying many pretty things
concerning "her lines," etc. But when
to their great disappointment, instead of bank
notes teeming forth, they beheld sea-begrimmed
tars tumbling out of the "tank," and
worse still barrels of gunpowder being hoisted
out, they said, "Nao maes," we
give it up! Their disappointment indeed was
considerable, and her fine lines could no longer
be seen.

It was proposed by Goncalves and his officers,
to dig a hole in the bank, somewhere, and put the
Destroyer in it under the mean
pretext of putting a patch over the old leak
spoken of at Pernambuco--a small matter. The
meaning of this was practically the condemnation
of the ship.

Robinson Crusoe in the fiction was not in a
worse fix than this in which Admiral Goncalves
would have himself appear. Starting too from this
very Bahia, Crusoe in the course of his wonderful
adventures, we all know, found himself obliged to
dig his ship out to the sea, else let her rot in
land. Exactly opposite, was the dilemma of our
modern hero. The Destroyer,
Goncalves said, should be dug into the land, else
she would sink at sea.

Nothing of the kind! Why not bring the vessel
into the small basin already at hand, I suggested,
ground her on the smooth bottom and make the
repairs. "Oh, no! Oh, no! That couldn't be
done," echoed a chorus of voices from
officers, all in a plot.

But his Excellency, Mr. Netto, Minister of
Marine, friend of the legal Government, seeing my
earnestness and good faith, when I told him that I
stood only on the order said, "Bring her
in." In she came!

The ship was now all the Admiral's. He had
romped my contract, made by the Commander of the
forces at Pernambuco, with the advice of the
Inspector of the Marine; which was to go against
the rebel fleet, and sink them all, if we could
find them--big and little--for a handsome sum of
gold, considering the danger, for each one that we
should destroy--I would have commenced on the
small ones, to be sure.

I began to think of the little farm, which so
many years ago I promised myself. I say now, I
could almost hear the potatoes growing--but not
quite. As the question of docking in the basin,
approved of by the Minister, was a matter of small
warfare between he and his officers, who one and
all wished to have the hole dug, and to put her in
it, I exerted myself to please His Excellency on
the Government side. I had great success that
day. The leak was found and repaired before I
slept that night, and before daylight the
Destroyer rode at her anchor again in
the bay, as tight as a cup. So in the morning,
when the officers of the Arsenal came down to the
Basin to inspect the work, the vessel wasn't
there. Mr. Netto took my hand very warmly
whenever after this I chanced to meet him alone.
I could readily perceive the Minister's position
to be a delicate one indeed.

The Destroyer was mended and
afloat, and barring some slight repairs needed to
her machinery, was in far better condition than
she was when leaving New York. Had the voyage
extended around the globe, a ship to be proud of
would have been the ultimate result. To have
sailed her first to the land of boiler-makers
wouldn't have been amiss.

Goncalves, however, had one more open chance.
He would have made a dozen chances to consummate
his plan. It was with great interest that I
watched the progress of the whole business, and
noted the methods employed to the end that the
Destroyer herself should be
destroyed. The great pneumatic gun on the other
ship I heard nothing about. That I believe was
fixed and made harmless early in the
"preparations." The Ericsson
"cannon" was the gun to be
dreaded now. At New York detectives were put on
to keep folk away from the Ericsson gun; but here
at Bahia it was impossible to get anybody to go
near it. A plan was studied to somehow put it out
of the way. "Should that once double on us
like the Howell torpedo," they said, "it
would be worse than the yellow fever around
here," and "we must get it out of the
way." So on the 28th Feb., 1894, having
discharged the sailors and having filled their
places with bean-eaters from the fields and the
mountains, and having found a captain unfamiliar
with the ways of a ship, (a thing by the way not
so hard to find) Goncalves sent the ship to sea,
he did, with this outfit on board. She was gone
only 24 hours, however, and returned with all
hands ahoy! flat on deck, seasick and afraid.
The Captain--it would be impolite to call
sick--lost his appetite and prayed to be thrown
overside early in this memorable adventure, which
will live in record side by side with the history
of the war. The Destroyer had proved
too much for the greenhorns--they couldn't lose
her.

There was, however, one man, a soldier, on
board who would have run the engineer through for
deserting his post. This man (the soldier) was
afterwards thrown in jail, I heard, and, for aught
I know, was shot. The Captain, even in his own
misery, saved the engineer's life. He said,
"Let us each die a natural death. Let us all
die friends on deck, since there is no one to help
us into the sea, and let us have no more
war." Goncalves thought he knew what he was
about, when he put that crew on board, but he did
not count on the latent strength of the
Destroyer. On leaving, she at once
collided with the stout steamer that towed her
from and back into Bahia, and still was not
wrecked, in fact, she was but slightly damaged.
She was towed with a short steel hawser and no one
was at the helm to guide her in the going or in
the coming, for there wasn't a soul on board that
could steer. She sheered wildly over the ocean.
The hawser would have incontinently carried away
the bows of a less substantial vessel, but the
Destroyer of many storms withstood
the hard usage.

The day was calm or nearly so, and the sea was
smooth; else indeed the ship would have been
foundered--with all of those young souls on board!
I watched her from the top of the hill going.
From the same place the next evening I was
rejoiced to see her safely return.

Her best pump was landed before she went out.
I saw it at the Arsenal under a tree; her anchors,
however, they left on board. She was not pumped
from the time she sailed 'till she arrived back
into port for reasons already stated. The ballast
which would have trimmed the vessel well, was also
taken ashore at the same time and same place, with
the pump, and was never brought back on board. So
the Destroyer went by the head, for
the want of balance, which caused her to sheer
worse than ever. But for all that the other
steamship failed to sink her. So the
Destroyer came back.

And so after triumphantly breasting the winter
waves of the North Atlantic Ocean, the
Destroyer changed her crew, to give
up the fight in a summer sea.

I wish I were able to give a better account of
the warriors that I met in Brazil, and especially
of the sailors(?) who shipped on the
Destroyer, in lieu of the men who
sailed her from New York. But this true account,
not always flattering, I know, will be endorsed by
every honest Brazilian of whichever side, and
will, I am sure, greatly assist the future
historian. My own position in the voyage forbids
me to say more.

Concerning the last days of my worthy old ship,
there is little more to say. The upland
navigators at the Arsenal at Bahia, having
observed the New York crew put the
Destroyer in the basin and out again
with dispatch, undertook, like some tropical
quadrupeds, to do the "trick"
themselves. Whether from pure cussedness or not
this time, I can't say, but they stove a great
hole in her bottom, having grounded her on a rock,
"accidentally," they said.

Alas! for all our hardships and perils! The
latest account that I heard said that the
Destroyer lay undone in the basin.
The tide ebbing and flowing through her broken
hull--a rendezvous for eels and crawfish--and now
those high and dry sailors say they had a
"narrow escape.

The torpedo boat, Moxoto, must not
be forgotten. My pen blushes to record it. A
crockery-ware clerk was put in command of her, and
she was sent on a trial trip among the ships in
the bay. Now to the poor clerk and his
earthen-ware crew, all this was strange and
dangerous, but they cut up high jinks and made
things hum in the bay. Everybody was on his guard
for awhile, for they had steam up and couldn't
stop her--they didn't know how. The Captain
hailed a foreign steamer and shouted to the
engineer that he would pay 20 mil reis to be
stopped. But the engineer couldn't get aboard--he
couldn't catch her. She could steam 18 knots and
was now at full speed.

The Vice-Admiral's brig, an old craft of many
summers at Bahia, came in for the first ram in the
collisions that followed. But the
Moxoto, not hitting her fair, came
off second best in the battle. Then away, always
at full speed, she made for brig No. 2 not far
away, aground on her own beef bones, and gave her
a blow in the quarter that brought the crew,
officers and all, on deck in a hurry. Being
aground, the danger of a collision had not been
thought of. The shock, they at first supposed,
came from an earthquake, but that's no matter.
It wasn't, and as nothing less could move them to
action, they all went below again, like good,
loyal warriors where they should do the least
harm--if they should do anything at all--and be
most out of danger. There were no bullets flying
about, to be sure, but the sun was dangerously hot
at Bahia. It was, in fact, all the fire there
was, to speak of, in the whole war.

Early in March, the rebel navy weakened, if I
may use the term in their case, and the
Aquideban, after burning much powder
to no effect, proceeded from Rio harbor unmolested
to sea; leaving open waters for my old friend
Goncalves to take up in turn, which he did, and
went on with the business of burning powder in
greater salutes than ever. The revolt began in
Rio, somewhere in September, 1893, the date don't
matter much. The funny war so far as the navy was
concerned finished of itself in March, 1894. No
historian can ever say more.

They may tell of hot firing and hot fires but
it was by the heat of the sun, and by that child
of filth, yellow fever, that most lives were lost.
In this way, I said, some of the members of our
own expedition were taken. Were it not indeed for
these darker shades, I could now look back with
unalloyed pleasure over the voyage of the
Destroyer; the voyage of past
hardships, now so pleasant to bear. The voyage
which gave to the crew, and myself, withal, no end
of fun.